


(k)not me, baby

by pleurer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alpha Peter Parker, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Confessions, Fake Marriage, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Tony Stark, Porn with Feelings, Possessiveness, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-09-25 01:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20368642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleurer/pseuds/pleurer
Summary: Tony could stop. He needs to stop. But Peterneedshim, and when faced with a wrong versus wrong decision, Tony will always choose the option that would hurt Peter less.(In which Tony helps Peter through his rut, and then bonds with him in more ways than one.)





	(k)not me, baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tuesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/gifts).

> Recip, this is for the prompts ‘Tony Stark is a secret omega’ and ‘mandatory marriage by a certain age.’ I tried to include some of your other general likes as well. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Canon compliant up to IW. The blip only lasts for a year, Tony survives Endgame, and he and Pepper either split during the blip or never got back together post-CW. Peter is 18.
> 
> Posted anonymously for a fic exchange on September 9; redated for author reveals.

“FRI,” says Tony, perched on the lab stool, elbow propped up on the workbench and chin resting idly in his hand. “How many minutes late is Peter Parker to our bi-weekly lab date?”

He doesn’t know why he calls it a date. Slip of the tongue. Luckily, FRIDAY doesn’t say anything about it. “One hour and five minutes, boss,” she reports back. “I’m not sure why you’re asking me for the tenth time this afternoon. You have full access to a digital clock.”

So much for _ not saying anything about it. _Next time, he’ll program an AI that won’t talk back. “Tell me that I’m reading too much into this, and that Peter can spend his time however he likes.”

“You are reading too much into this, and Peter can spend his time however he likes,” says FRIDAY, deadpan.

Nope. Just like he thought, hearing it out loud doesn’t stop the slight pang of jealousy in his chest at whichever thing or person has occupied Peter’s time. He doesn’t even want to think about how desperate he must be to miss the kid after only two weeks of not seeing him and hearing his enthusiastic rambling. God, he really needs to get out more, find friends that aren’t his coworkers or his very eager and unfairly brilliant protege.

But— there was always a _ but, _ some irrational thought that urged Tony to continue ignoring the concept of healthy boundaries with said protege. And this time, it was the fact that Peter hadn’t even called to reschedule. Now _ that _was out of character for a kid who always picked up Tony’s calls after no more than two rings. 

The logical part of his brain tries to reason with him. Maybe he’s buried nose-deep in textbooks for an upcoming exam. Maybe he lost track of time while taking down some unfriendly neighbourhood criminals. Whatever. Peter has the right to do what he wants without reporting to Tony, and so what if it results in a few missed appointments? Tony had been terrible at keeping his word at Peter’s age. 

Just when Tony’s about to get to work in the lab and distract himself via some manual labour, the holographic screen lights up in front of Tony, a strikingly bright red. 

“You have received an alert from Karen,” FRIDAY reports.

“Put her through.”

“Hello, Mr. Stark,” says Karen’s voice, one he hasn’t heard in a while. “There appears to be an emergency. Peter’s heart rate has elevated to twice his normal amount, and his body temperature is at an all-time high.”

Tony doesn’t have time to feel vindictive about his worry having been justified— all he knows is the familiar, protective anxiety clenching in his chest, overpowering everything else. “Where is he?” 

“He is in his apartment, sir.”

“Pull up the video feed.”

“Peter has asked for you to disable the baby monitor protocol, sir. You deactivated it on Peter’s eighteenth birthday.”

Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Of course the one time he actually respected his boundaries with Peter, it would come back to bite him in the ass. “Okay. Okay. Is he in a fight? Are there any outside threats?”

“He appears to be alone, sir. No outside threats detected.”

At least that rules out the possibility of some kind of targeted attack. Still, if Peter is experiencing some kind of heart attack or deadly fever— Tony had lost him once. He couldn’t bear to lose him again. He calls Peter's number, drumming his fingers at a rapid pace against the surface of his desk as he waits for Peter to pick up.

When Peter finally picks up, more than ten rings later, his voice sounds weary and raw. 

“Mr. Stark?” he slurs, sounding confused through the haze. “What— what’s up?”

“Peter,” says Tony, using his full first name, so Peter knows it’s serious. “I just got an alert from Karen. She told me you were in danger. Are you okay? You’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m fine,” says Peter, voice small and shaky. “I’m— _ ah— _just— I’m sorry. I— I gotta go. I really don’t need your help— thank you, Mr. Stark.” Abruptly, he hangs up, leaving Tony no more reassured than he was before, and almost a hundred percent certain that there must be something deeply wrong.

He suits up, launches out the window, and plots a course to Peter’s place. 

-

Tony might have qualms about breaking the lock on Peter’s apartment if he didn’t have Peter’s safety to worry about. As it is, he lets himself in quickly. He gets into Peter’s room before Peter even notices that someone has broken into his apartment, which is a bad sign. If he’s unwell enough for his Spidey senses to be affected, it’s serious. Tony had kept asking Karen for updates on the way there, but halfway through the flight there, Karen had stopped responding, meaning that he'd either taken off the suit or had it severely damaged.

Sure enough, when Tony steps into Peter's room, he sees the mask lying next to Peter, who's curled up in the bed in his NYC shirt and Hello Kitty pajama pants, rumpled sheets sitting at the foot of it. His face is a blotchy red, his clothes are stained with sweat, and the sound of heavy, pained breathing fills the room.

And then— and then Peter rolls over, lying on his front on the bed, rocks his hips against the bedsheets and _ moans, _strained and broken.

Tony’s throat seizes up and he forgets to breathe for a moment. All that he can feel is desire flaring up, unbidden, burning in the pit of his stomach so hot it threatens to consume him whole. And then he focuses on the situation, and listens in on how Peter’s whimpering brokenly with each thrust, noises turning into sobs— the bed itself is drenched in sweat, and Peter’s skin is flushed so much redder than strictly normal, it’s alarming.

Shit.

Tony knows exactly what’s happening. It’s rut, or heat, or whatever it is. He can't smell Peter, which means Peter's probably wearing scent blockers, and he hasn’t gotten a look at whether Peter’s pants are wet with slick, and he _ doesn’t want to know. _ He should leave, right now, only Peter’s home alone, with no one to help him through what looks like an extremely painful situation. How long had he been like this? It probably hadn’t been so bad before, if Karen had only sent the alert now, but— well, the parameters were (at Peter’s request) set much higher than they used to be when he was a kid. So for Karen to send the alert meant that it was likely approaching life-threatening levels. However long it had gone on, it was bad _ now _and that was what mattered.

The concern clenches tight in Tony’s chest, and before he can think it through, he calls out to him. “Hey, Pete? It’s me.” 

“Mr. Stark?” says Peter. He lifts his head wearily, and then the embarrassment catches up to him belatedly, and he turns even redder, frantically covering the wet mess on his pants with the bedsheets. “Oh my God, Mr. Stark— what are you— what are you _ doing here?” _

“Good to see you too,” says Tony, trying to come across as casual as possible given the circumstances. Which is usually a thing he’s good at, except Peter Parker is right in front of him, clearly turned on out of his mind, which makes Tony turned on out of his mind. Yikes. _ Good to see you? _Really, Tony? He winces. “Didn't mean it like that. Just thought I’d drop by, because Karen’s pretty good at identifying emergencies, no matter what kind, so if she says something’s wrong, then something’s wrong.”

Peter groans and trembles as he visibly holds back from rutting against the sheets. His whole body is held taut. “Please leave,” says Peter, voice hoarse. “I— I’m gonna be okay, just please, I can’t— not with you here.” 

It makes perfect sense. No one wanted their platonic mentor to be around during mating season. It shouldn’t sting at all. And yet it does, because Tony’s logic has always flown out the window when it came to Peter. It’s the lack of said logic that asks the following question: 

“Heat or rut? Because I know how to cope with one of those, and believe me, going it alone is nobody’s idea of a fun time. If you don’t want my unsolicited advice, let me get you some suppressants and water at the very least. Just tell me where they are— you don’t even have to move from the bed.”

“Rut,” says Peter. Tony has deliberately avoided making assumptions about Peter, or anyone else for that matter, which means that the surprised twinge inside him is something entirely primal. He shouldn’t be _ pleased _about this. He shouldn’t. It’s not like mating with Peter would ever, under any circumstances, be a good idea. 

(Except this one, apparently.) 

Tony clears his throat. “Okay, well. Ruts, I’m afraid, are out of my—”

“My suppressants don’t work,” says Peter, and subsequently gives a helpless full-body shudder. “They stopped working a couple days ago— I don’t know why. They’ve been working all year, but now, all of a sudden it’s just— I can’t.”

A _ year _without letting himself go into rut? That sounded awful. Even Tony, who was on suppressants most of the time since becoming Iron Man, had been told by Dr. Cho to go off suppressants at least once every four months or so and just ride it out, to prevent lasting side effects. The several times he stayed on suppressants for longer than that— because he had never been good at doing what he was told— he had ended up in a similar state as Peter, and that was not fun for anyone. So he was familiar with Peter’s level of pain. Or maybe not. It was probably worse for someone with superpowered senses.

“Okay, so suppressants are out of the question.” Tony sits down at the edge of the bed, and regrets it immediately when he’s greeted with a view of Peter up close and personal. Peter’s hair is tousled, cheeks flushed a rosy red, eyes half-lidded with lust, pretty eyelashes framing darkened eyes, and reddened lips half-open. The sight is so impossibly arousing Tony nearly forgets to breathe. He’s stunning, even like this— and no, this is decidedly not the time or place to think those thoughts. He wishes Peter hadn’t taken the mask off. It’d make things easier. “Why were you wearing the mask, earlier?”

“Blocks out sensory input,” Peter breathes out. “I thought it’d be easier to— to come, but it didn’t really work.”

Hearing the word _ come _ fall from Peter’s lips shouldn’t have the effect it does. It makes it impossible from here on out to pretend that this situation is anything less than what it really is— that Peter’s in this state because he's bursting with the need for pleasure, for release. Tony instinctively reaches out and strokes his hair, the chastest touch he can offer. Peter lets out a noise akin to a purr, relaxing into Tony’s touch immediately. He takes ahold of Tony's wrist, and the purr dissolves into a low rumble that has the heat in Tony’s stomach growing unbearable. He’s been on suppressants himself, and his heat is due theoretically in a week or two, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still an omega the rest of the time. And normally it’s a thing he tries not to make a big deal of, but with Peter here, Peter nuzzling his face into Tony’s hand? All of his nerves are on edge, his biology and the horribly inappropriate one-sided _ thing _he’s been harboring towards Peter combining forces to urge Tony to give in.

No. _ No. _He’s the only one of the two of them that can think clearly. He has to stop this. There's got to be some kind of solution that would help Peter get through this. The part of Tony's brain that still works remembers that he devised something like a multipurpose sex toy for those lonely nights, ever since he and Pepper split. It doesn’t relieve the pain entirely, but it’s something. Now if only Peter would let go of his iron-tight grip on Tony’s arm. 

“Hey. Pete? Hey. Earth to Peter.” Tony tries to snatch his hand away, but Peter whines and clings onto it, and oh boy, that’s super strength right there. If Tony’s not careful, he’ll break a bone, and his mind _ really _needs to shut up because there’s no way that should be hot instead of concerning. “Peter, I’ve got something in my lab that’ll help you out, okay? Just let me fly back and get it. It’ll be super quick, you won’t even notice I’m gone.” 

“No,” Peter cries out, panicked. “Don’t go, please, Mr. Stark. I— I need—” 

In a blind haze of desire, he leans in close and presses his face to Tony's neck. Tony holds himself still, heart racing with the possibility that Peter can smell him. He’s pretty sure that he hasn't given off pheromones as strongly as he’s doing now, to Peter, in a really long time. Peter’s nose wrinkles and his brow furrows, confirming Tony’s suspicions. It seems that the confusion has brought him back to his senses. 

“Mr. Stark,” says Peter slowly. “Are you—?”

“An omega. Yep. It’s not a four-letter word.” Tony hadn’t kept it a secret for that reason. He lived his life primarily without worrying what others thought of him. It was just that most of the important aspects of his life were already public, and he didn’t need this to be, too. And then there was the Iron Man thing. He’d made a long list of enemies over the years. He couldn’t possibly risk them figuring out that every once in a while his body would function below its normal standard, only to use that against him, or worse, against the people he loved. 

Peter looks shellshocked. “But if you’re— that means—” 

“I can help you with your rut, yeah,” says Tony. “You look like you could use a hand.” _ Or a hole, _a very unhelpful part of Tony’s mind pipes up.

“Mr. Stark,” says Peter helplessly, body sagging with relief against Tony's. “God, yes, _ please.” _

Tony helps Peter out of his clothes, which are stained with sweat, and tries not to think about how smooth his skin is, gorgeous and unblemished, all taut, slender muscle. He focuses instead on how hot his body temperature is in a literal sense, and how he needs to take care of this as quickly as possible to get Peter back to normal. He swallows around the lump in his throat as he wraps a hand around Peter’s cock and Peter _ whines, _hips jerking into Tony’s grasp. Tony jerks Peter off methodically, shutting his eyes and uselessly willing his dick not to react to the way Peter is rubbing himself all over Tony’s body, panting and writhing and gasping as he comes, spilling into Tony’s hand and dripping onto Tony’s pants. 

Tony wonders, for a moment, if that’s enough. Getting off to the touch and scent of an omega. Maybe, somehow, Peter would be spared from having to do more with Tony than absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, Tony gets his answer when Peter’s erection doesn’t go down at all and Peter whimpers, pressing his face to Tony’s neck like he’s in pain. 

“Please,” he breathes into Tony’s skin, gripping Tony’s arm so hard it hurts. “Please, _ please.” _

Okay, yeah, there’s no _ way _ Tony’s going to not react to that. His dick is straining in his pants, and despite not being in heat or even close to it, he feels wet _ there, _ too. God, this is insane. Tony could stop. He needs to stop. But Peter _ needs _him, and when faced with a wrong versus wrong decision, Tony will always choose the option that would hurt Peter less. The knowledge that none of this is real, that Peter wouldn’t really want him outside of this specific circumstance, is undercut by the desperate need to make sure Peter gets through this rut, safe and alive. 

“Okay,” says Tony. “Okay, Pete. You’ve gotta let go. I’ve got to get these clothes off.”

Peter, apparently, takes that as an invitation to literally rip Tony’s shirt off his body in a display of his super strength that has Tony’s dick twitching, painfully hard, in his pants. Up till this point, he’s been trying to hold back his impulses. With this, his last straw of self-restraint snaps in half. Fueled solely by desire and need, he abandons the remainder of his clothing as fast as he can. Already dripping with slick, he straddles Peter in one swift motion, and sinks down onto Peter’s cock. He lets out a groan at the stretch— he’s definitely turned on enough that it’s not too bad, but it’s been a while.

“Mr. Stark,” says Peter, and despite the way his eyes are dazed with desire, he’s watching Tony with worry. “Are— are you okay?” He grasps the sheets, twisting his fists in them, holding himself as still as possible. “Please tell me if I’m hurting you. I— I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m good,” says Tony. “You’re not hurting me, kid, I promise.” He runs a hand along the side of Peter’s jaw, and Peter melts into the touch. “You’re doing so well, Pete. You can let go now. I’ve got you.”

Obediently, Peter snaps his hips up with a helpless cry, and the thrill of pleasure that runs up Tony’s spine is entirely too real. All he can do is hold on to Peter’s shoulders as Peter thrusts up into him, setting a pace that’s not really a pace so much as a frantic chase towards an end goal. All the while, Peter keeps nosing at Tony’s neck, right where the gland is. He’s trembling, body tense with want. He keeps shifting his attention up to kiss Tony’s jaw in an effort to distract himself, only to keep sliding back down to the gland, whimpering with desperation at what he really needs. Tony puts a hand on his hair, and holds him there with his half-open mouth brushing against his scent gland where Tony needs it, too. It takes all the effort in Tony’s body not to say, _ mark me, make me yours. _

“Please,” says Peter, voice so low and breathless it’s barely a whimper. “Mr. Stark, _ please.” _

Tony doesn’t have to ask to know what Peter wants. His nails are digging into Tony so hard he’s sure his skin will break, and his hips are jerking up into Tony even faster and harder than before. Peter takes in harsh breaths to try to calm himself down, his brain trying hard to stop from reaching the end goal his body is chasing. Immediately, a wave of protectiveness washes over Tony. It’s been established that he can’t bear to see Peter in any type of pain, not least when it’s something Tony can easily remedy. Without thinking, he blurts out, “You can knot me, if you want.”

Peter looks at him, eyes dazed and hopeful, pupils blown apart with raw need. “Really? Can I?”

What Peter didn’t know was that if he asked like that, Tony would give him whatever he wanted, no question about it. “Yeah,” says Tony before he can change his mind. “I want it. I want your knot, Peter.”

That’s all Peter needs. Like a dam breaking, like everything he’s been trying to hold back rises to the surface. He bites down on Tony’s neck, thrusts hard inside of Tony and comes with a muffled growl, primal and impossibly hot. Tony lets the waves of pleasure wash over himself, from the bite, from Peter inside of him, and he comes too, tipping over the edge with a shout.

“Good boy,” says Tony shakily as Peter whimpers and nuzzles into Tony’s neck. All that Tony can do is stroke his hair, gentle and slow, as Peter shakes through the aftershocks. He feels Peter swelling up inside him, and the stretch skirts the painful edge of pleasure, but it’s Peter, and it just feels _ right. _

They stay like that, locked together, for a period of time that feels too long and too short all at once. Peter is relaxed, nosing absentmindedly at Tony’s neck, pressing his lips softly to Tony’s collarbone in a gesture of intimacy that has Tony’s heart racing and his brain scrambling to restrain himself. It was simple biology, he reminds himself. Peter was in rut, and Tony helped him through it. That was all there was to it, and nothing more.

-

Turns out there’s a lot more to it than that. 

Tony will admit that it was rather out of character for him to forget his own birthday. But to be fair, he had been preoccupied with other things, like attractive young men buried to the hilt inside him, begging to knot.

The mandatory marriage was mostly two things: a nuisance and a formality. From the government's point of view, the rule that anyone turning fifty years old was required to marry the last person they had mated with was probably a good thing. To bolster the population, lower the rate of single people, or something like that. It was hard to actually enforce without meddling in the sexual affairs of the general population, and so the law largely relied on good faith unless the government had their eye on you. Unfortunately, the whole thing with the Sokovia Accords had already put Tony and the Avengers under intense scrutiny, and apparently saving half of the known universe did not make Tony immune to the common law. It was easier overall just to get married and get it over with. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean that Tony actually has to marry Peter. Not every pair who bonded were biologically or legally required to be bonded for life. Divorce was a thing, and so was re-bonding, though the latter was many degrees more painful than the former. The newer the bonding bite, the harder it was to get rid of it, and the more physical pain it would cause. Tony weighs the option of excruciating physical pain to undo an accident, versus living with this accident and tying Peter down for life, forcing him to remain married to someone he had no desire to. His answer is clear.

Tony calls up Rhodey first, upon remembering that he had drunkenly propositioned Rhodey with the idea of a marriage pact back in college. Sure, Rhodey had said no back then, but Tony figured he might possibly take pity on him this time. It was worth a try.

“No,” says Rhodey, much too quickly for Tony’s liking. “Why don’t you just marry whoever it was? You can’t possibly have me believe you haven’t gotten laid since Pepper.”

“I have, and it’s definitely not someone I can get married to.” Before Rhodey can ask, Tony powers on. “Look, we’ve been friends for what, thirty-something years? You’re stuck with me for life. What’s a little marriage going to change?” 

“I _ am _stuck with you for life, which is how I know that you don’t have a concept of boundaries, and that you’re even more likely to get disproportionately invested in romantic affairs than platonic ones. Trust me, I’m saving both of us a lot of trouble down the road. Besides, I’m single, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“This was not an open invitation to insult me,” says Tony, but only because he can’t argue with the truth. 

“Sorry, Tones. Maybe try someone else. You’d be a catch, and I’m sure you’ve got people lined up.”

“I know,” says Tony. That’s not the problem. The problem is that none of them are the one he wants, and the one he wants is the worst idea of them all.

Regardless, Tony does try someone else. Lots of ‘someone else’s. Natasha hangs up on him with a simple _ no_. Bruce lets him down gently. Tony thinks of calling Steve, but decides against it. FRIDAY informs him that she is only an AI without a human body, and that informing the government of her existence would cause more trouble than it was worth.

So he switches gears and decides to get advice instead. Happy offers little help, too preoccupied with figuring out whether May could ever want more than a fling despite the two of them both being alphas. Tony then spends ten minutes explaining human marriage customs to Nebula, until Gamora, completely misunderstanding Tony’s request, threatens to slit his throat and hangs up on the intergalactic receiver.

All of that only puts Tony right back where he started. “Fuck it,” he says aloud as he finally makes the executive decision to dial Peter’s number. His pulse thrums with trepidation as he remembers what had taken place the last time he called Peter. But Peter picks up, as he always does, after two rings. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” It’s not as peppy as usual. Guilt churns in Tony’s stomach. “Did you, um... did you want something?”

“Pete, I need you to come in to the office,” says Tony, because this isn’t the kind of conversation to be had over the phone. “As soon as you can, okay? This is important.”

“Yeah. Okay. I got you. I’ll be there soon.”

He hangs up. Tony spends the next ten minutes wiping the sweat off the palms of his hands until Peter swings in through his window. 

“Hey,” says Peter, looking terribly handsome, windswept curls framing a small, sideways smile. Even if his voice is devoid of its usual cheer, he’s clearly doing better than he was yesterday. “What’s up?” 

“Hey, Mr. Parker. Have a seat, would you? FRI, turn off all surveillance cameras, and don’t record any of this.” 

Peter’s eyes go wide, but he sits down across from Tony in the desk nonetheless. 

“So,” says Tony. “It’s my fiftieth birthday today.” He clears his throat. “And you’re the last person I— bonded with, so by law, we’d have to get married.”

Peter’s jaw drops. The shock on his face makes Tony flinch, but it’s not nearly as bad as the crestfallen look that befalls him seconds later. If the very idea of marrying Tony made Peter look this way? There was no way Tony could go through with this.

“We don’t have to, of course,” says Tony, with an air of practiced casualness. “Nobody knows what we did except the two of us. I have the rest of the day to find another willing party, mate with them instead, and we can forget about all of this, the two of us. I’ve only got about—” he looks down at his watch— “ten hours to do that, and I know I’ve got some willing parties lined up, but it’s going to take a while to sift through the ones that only want my inheritance. So if you could just marinate in it a little bit, and let me know—”

‘I’ll do it,” says Peter quickly. He looks away in an instant, though, shifting in his seat. “I mean— I don’t— you don’t have to, obviously. I get it if you’d prefer someone else. I just thought that if it had to be someone, then maybe— we already know each other, and we hang out all the time. It doesn’t have to be all that different, right? It’ll just be on paper. It doesn’t have to be— real.” He swallows hard, looks down at the floor.

Tony takes a deep breath, and tries not to latch onto those words. _ It’ll just be on paper. It doesn’t have to be real. _Those words are his salvation and his demise. Peter will never know how badly Tony really wants this. It could work out. It would work out. 

“You’re right,” says Tony. “I would prefer if it was you. I trust you, kid—” and maybe that’s not the right place for the nickname to slip in, but that’s not what he’s implying at all. “I trust you, Pete,” he remedies. “And you’re right. Nothing between us has to change.”

It seems like with every word that Tony speaks, Peter just looks more and more dejected. So Tony does the only thing he can, which is put a swift end to the conversation. “I’ll have Pepper write up a contract for us, and I’ll give you all the time you need to look through it and add anything you want. I mean it, anything. It’s my fault that my own birthday slipped my mind, so by all means, do whatever you can to make this work in your favour. I’ve got lots of money and I don’t have any hard no’s, so take advantage of that.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” says Peter in a small voice. Shoulders hunched, he adds, “I never wanted to take advantage of you.”

“I can promise you right now that you didn’t,” says Tony. “If anything, it’s on me, so I need you to be fully on board with this. Just tell me one last time that you’re sure, and I’ll call Pep in right now.”

“I’m sure,” says Peter. His jaw is set, and his eyes are determined. “I’m sure, Mr. Stark— Tony.”

Tony realizes two things. The first? He likes the sound of his name from Peter’s lips way too much. The second? He's gotten himself and Peter into an even worse mess than he previously thought.

-

“This doesn’t mean that we have to _ act _married,” Tony tells Peter for the third time as they walk back to the car from city hall. They’d decided against a ceremony— Tony didn’t need yet another facsimile of what he really wanted with Peter. And besides, with the press invading every aspect of Tony’s life, they’d find out eventually anyways. And a ceremony would just be an awkward mess. Peter had only just been able to restrain May from trying to skin Tony alive when he told her, and hell, May didn’t even know that the whole thing was happening due to an unforeseen accident. 

Peter’s looking down at the pavement as they walk, deliberately avoiding Tony’s gaze. Tony feels a pang of guilt. “Seriously, kid. Carry on with your life as if we weren’t married. I’d prefer that, actually. We'll have our lab sessions, work on your suit, and all, but you don't have to spend any more time with me than you did before. We’ll have to butter up the press once in a while, give them a few kisses and such to look forward to, but I'm not holding you to anything more than that. Okay? Capisce?”

“Yeah,” says Peter, sounding unnecessarily dejected. “I got it.” 

An immature part of Tony wants to tell Peter the truth. Of how badly he wants those few fake kisses to be real. Of how proud he would be to show the world that Peter was his, if only that were true. But it’s bad enough that he basically forced Peter to bond with him while Peter wasn’t capable of making that decision himself. From here on out, Tony has to be the responsible one.

They get in the car and head back to Tony’s Manhattan penthouse. It’s closer to Columbia than any of the other places Tony owns, so at least Peter can still go to class while living with Tony. Moving in is basically required given that they’re legally married, but Tony had told Peter that he could leave as little of his stuff here as he wanted, and that he was welcome to go sleep at home any time, as long as he stayed over a couple days a week so as not to rouse suspicion. He gives Peter a separate room and a separate bed, not wanting to impose on his privacy or restrict his freedom. Hell, the kid was still a college freshman. He didn’t need a husband tying him down. 

The first couple weeks go by fairly smoothly. Their lives continue on as usual, though Peter chooses to hang around at Tony's place pretty much every day. Tony really can’t complain about coming home to see Peter lounging on the couch snacking on chips and watching _ Black Mirror_, or dangling from the ceiling doing mid-air sit-ups (Tony has to look away from the way his muscles ripple, tempting him to do the one thing he had already done but couldn't repeat). 

Spending time together is really not bad at all. It’s essentially the bi-weekly lab sessions they used to have, but more frequent. They dive straight into the work, finding an easy footing on the common ground they've always shared and still do. They work together on some War Machine upgrades, some new Stark Industries tech, and Peter’s Spider suit. Tony revels in the unparalleled brilliance of Peter’s ideas, the confidence that comes with having a little more age and life experience than he had when Tony met him, that allows him to pick out Tony’s mistakes and correct them. Tony should not find that as sexy as he does. 

And then, when enough time has passed that they can talk about the mating thing without stepping on any toes, they start to work on some suppressants for Peter. Tony suspected that it was his superpowered metabolism that screwed up the effects of his current suppressants. To his dismay, he discovers Peter had been taking three times the recommended dose for years. God, no _ wonder _his rut hit so hard. His hormones were all out of whack. 

“Kid, you’re in bioengineering, if I remember correctly?”

“Yeah,” says Peter.

“Okay, good. We'll need your talents for this. We’re going to make you a new suppressant.”

Peter blinks. “Um, what?”

“They don’t sell suppressants for superhumans on the mass market. So we’re making you one.” Tony opens the container of Peter's old suppressants in front of them, and dumps out a pill onto the surface of the workbench. “We’ll start with whatever’s in here, and run some tests to figure out what’s giving you the negative side effects, tweak the ratio of ingredients until we get something that works for you. But I’m going to need you to spend all your free time in the lab, with me, until we figure this out, okay?” 

“Oh,” says Peter. He regards Tony for a long time, and then he smiles. “Yeah. Okay, let’s do it.”

-

The first iteration makes Peter bounce off the walls with energy. The second decreases his sex drive, not that Tony wants to ask how Peter knows that. 

The third, though? The third one works just fine. Tony finds that out on the day when Peter's rut is due, when the kid swings home from patrol, and comes in through the window to the penthouse. Tony had, with Peter's permission, remotely monitored Peter all the while, with his own suit ready to fly out and bring Peter back home to safety if he went into rut.

“Everything’s fine, Mr. Stark,” says Peter, grinning from ear to ear. “I saved a cat from a tree, and I gave this lady her car back from a thief, and I didn’t go into rut or even feel _ anything. _Thank you, Mr. Stark, thank you.”

“It was all you, Pete,” says Tony. “And I’m glad it’s working.” Tony convinces himself that he means it. It’s perfectly fine that Peter can now make it through his ruts alone. It’s perfectly fine that Tony will never again get to feel the warmth of Peter’s skin pressed up to his own, to see the way his picture-perfect face looked when it was lost to pleasure. All for the best, really.

-

It’s the first Stark Industries event since the marriage. On the surface, it's a public announcement of the new tech he's been working on, which is a type of surveillance drone equipped to provide instant alerts and temporary relief for natural disasters. But more than simply announcing a new product, it's a chance for the public to finally meet Peter. There's fancy food, an opportunity for attendees to chat and network with each other, and a formal dress code. Which means that Peter is clad in a nice, custom-fitted suit (that Tony wants to rip off as soon as Peter puts it on, but that’s besides the point).

It seems to go well, at first. While everyone mingles with each other, Tony and Peter stand by the snacks, mostly because Peter’s superpowered metabolism makes him easily hungry, but also to give him something to do with his fidgety hands. Not that he really needs to, for when Tony sees a crowd eyeing the two of them, he deigns it upon himself to pick up a quiche and tell Peter, “Open up, sweetheart.”

“What?” says Peter, eyes going a little wild. “I— oh.” He catches on fast, Tony’ll give him that. Obediently, he leans over and eats the quiche right out of Tony’s hand. The feeling of his bottom lip, soft and warm, brushing against the pad of Tony’s finger is going to haunt his dreams for weeks to come. As Peter licks the last few crumbs off his lips, wetting them with spit, Tony has to take deep breaths to keep himself sane.

Their generous display of affection has, apparently, caught the attention of a man who’d been a couple feet away. He approaches, and sniffs the air to test the waters, but it’s useless. Tony and Peter are both wearing scent blockers. This guy isn’t, though— the alpha pheromones hit Tony strongly and make him wrinkle his nose in distaste. Peter watches Tony out the corner of his eye, wary.

“Tony Stark,” says the man. “And who do we have here?” He extends his hand to shake Peter’s, bypassing Tony completely. Tony has seen enough of this exact scenario to know the type he's dealing with, the kind who takes pleasure in a fight between alphas over an omega. It's too bad he's reading the situation wrong.

“Peter,” says Peter, shaking the man’s hand firmly with a detached, polite interest. _Good boy_, Tony thinks to himself.

“Peter, huh? You look very good tonight, if you don’t mind me saying.” The man’s eyes dart to Tony. Tony wills himself not to react, so the man looks back to Peter. “So, how long have you two been together, huh?”

“Two weeks,” says Tony at the same time that Peter says, “Four years.” 

They exchange a look. Tony laughs, and turns back to the man, who’s watching with suspicion. “Oh, we’ve known each other for four years. Got married two weeks ago. You know how it is. He caught my attention and I tried to deny it for years, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about him and had to keep him for myself. Isn’t that right, honey?” He places a hand on Peter’s lower back in a show of possessiveness. Peter tenses, but then relaxes into his touch almost immediately, sidling up to Tony like a natural and kissing him on the cheek. Yeah, this is probably the only time when Peter’s case of hero worship helps them out. He really is great at selling the act. 

“That’s right,” says Peter. He meets the man’s eye with a fierce, protective look. “Have you tried the coconut prawns yet? They’re really good. Right over there.” Peter jerks a hand towards the snack table furthest away from them, and Tony feels a spike of adrenaline in his blood when he hears a low growl rumble in the back of Peter’s throat. Faint enough to be heard only by Tony, and maybe the guy talking to them as well. Tony knows exactly what’s happening. Just because Tony’s not affected by the other alpha doesn’t mean that Peter isn’t. The whole_ territorial alpha _ thing has always turned Tony off— but suddenly, when it’s Peter, he finds that it does the opposite. He shuts down the part of his mind that wishes Peter’s protectiveness were borne of something other than primal instinct.

The guy narrows his eyes for a long moment, like he's making sense of this new information. “Alright, then. No use getting into a spat with someone as scrawny as you are, even if it’s for Tony Stark. Even if I win, it’d just make me look bad.” He huffs out a laugh, disbelieving, and then takes his leave.

“I can’t believe this guy,” says Peter, running a hand through his hair and mussing up the carefully gelled-back style. Tony thinks he looks even more handsome now, and the fleck of residual anger in his eyes doesn’t help to make him look less attractive. “What the hell did he think— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so worked up.” 

“Hey, it’s alright,” says Tony, rubbing reassuring circles in Peter’s back where his hand still rests. He kind of never wants to let go. “I get it. Alpha instincts, the whole shebang.” 

“It’s not that,” says Peter. His fists clench, then unclench. When he meets Tony’s gaze, his eyes are bright and fiery. “I just— how could they treat you like that? You’re— I mean, you’re amazing, Tony. You’re brilliant, you’re inventive, you’re a freaking superhero and one of the best people I know. And all everyone else sees is just some stupid category that doesn’t even say anything about you.” 

It's almost too much, the burst of honesty. But Tony is used to Peter making his heart stutter in ways that are completely uncalled for. He simply takes Peter’s hand in his own, and smiles when Peter deflates at the touch.

“I couldn’t care less,” says Tony. “How do you think I made it this far? You live long enough, you learn to talk about yourself first so that you don’t hear what they’re saying about you.” He presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead, and when he pulls away, Peter’s cheeks are a delightful shade of pink. “Don’t worry about me, okay, sweetheart?” 

The nickname is an act of sheer self-indulgence, he’ll admit. But it works. Peter’s face is beet red, eyes darting nervously everywhere but Tony’s face. When he finally looks at Tony, it’s with a relieved smile and a small nod. “Okay.”

“It’ll get better. Trust me. And if it doesn’t? Hey, we've got free snacks and free alcohol. Just don’t tell anyone I let you drink.”

And so the night proceeds. It doesn’t really get better. A number of people they talk to not-so-subtly assert that Tony is an aggressive alpha taking advantage of a young omega to produce a healthy heir for Stark Industries— well, at least Tony knows that guy didn’t run and tell. And then there’s the crowd that pointedly asks just _ how _young Peter is, at which Peter aggressively takes a swig of his champagne, hooks a hand around Tony’s waist, and says, “Old enough.” Of course, Tony declines to share Peter’s actual age, for that would just make things worse. Instead, he handles the questions with his usual grace and charm, and they’re able to wrap the whole thing up without making much of a mess. 

After it’s finally over and the crowd has gone home, Tony knocks back a full glass of wine, and looks over to Peter.

“Sorry about all that,” he says. “I did not anticipate how much of a mess that would be, but hey, that's the story of my life.”

“It’s fine. Really,” says Peter. And then, shyly, looking down at his dress shoes— “It was kind of fun, actually.”

Tony shoots him a smile. “Hey, you don’t have to pretend. I know you must be dead tired. You want to head home first? Pep and I are just going to stay back and debrief for a bit. You’ve got the keys, right?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Peter flashes one last bright smile, and then turns to leave.

After Peter is gone, Pepper looks at Tony. “We don’t need to debrief,” she says, which is not at all what Tony expected her to say. “I think pretty much everyone was sold. Or at least they will be, soon enough.” 

“Sold?” says Tony. “On what, me whisking away a young omega to make some babies? I’m about ninety percent sure the press is going to make it into even more of a scandal than it already is.”

“We all saw the way you’ve been looking at Peter all day,” says Pepper. “There’s a difference between biological instinct and love, Tony. I’m pretty sure that everyone who’s watching can tell which one it is.”

Tony chuckles. "I don’t think we’re even watching the same show.”

Pepper places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s just us, Tony. You can be honest. I’ll admit, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure about this when you first asked me to write up the contract, but I can see how the two of you are a good fit. It’s only a matter of time until everyone else sees it, too. And besides, I think the person who matters most already feels the same.” She takes a calm sip of her wine, as if what she said doesn’t make Tony’s heart fill up with a dangerous false hope.

“He doesn’t have feelings for me,” says Tony. “Since when are you such a romantic? It was an accident that led to a legally real but otherwise fake marriage. You know this.”

“I do, Tony. But do you?” asks Pepper. While Tony struggles to formulate a response, she downs the remainder of her drink. Then an employee comes up to ask her for directions with the clean-up, and she leaves Tony standing there, feeling quite dizzy and disoriented for reasons other than the alcohol.

-

“So,” says Peter, the very next day. “Uh, Ned sent me this article?”

Peter holds his phone in front of Tony’s face. Tony reads the headline. _ Tony Stark Cheating On New Husband With Spider-Man? _

There are a couple blurry paparazzi shots of Peter in the Spider suit going to and from Tony’s penthouse window, placed next to the photos of Peter and Tony in their suits at last night's event.

“My poor husband,” says Tony dryly. “Who’s going to tell him I’ve been sleeping with Spider-Man?”

“But we haven’t,” says Peter. “Slept together. Not since— sorry.” 

Tony runs a hand over his face and sighs. “We don’t have to sleep together again, Pete. I mean, given the marriage, it’s assumed that we will. But, like you experienced firsthand yesterday, people will say whatever they want. That doesn't mean we have to listen.”

“That’s not the point,” says Peter. “It’s just. I mean, we’re both on suppressants. But do we really have to be? It can’t be all that healthy, right? Even if we can technically go it alone, we’re kind of biologically engineered to need someone else for it.” He bites his bottom lip, and scratches the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed by the request.

“You want to mate with someone else?” says Tony, dread settling into the pit of his stomach. Just because the thought of finding somebody else has never crossed his mind, and probably never would, doesn’t mean that it's the same way for Peter. The kid is eighteen, for Christ’s sake. Tony needs to stop being selfish. “You should’ve told me earlier. Really, Pete, it’s fine. I’m not stopping you. I’m sure you’ve got young and willing omegas your age who can indulge you.” 

He doesn’t know why he says that, when the very thought of Peter touching anyone else makes him tense up with unreasonable jealousy. Peter isn’t _ his, _regardless of biology, regardless of the law. 

“Okay, then,” says Peter, voice shot through with an inexplicable coldness. “Thanks for your blessing. I’m going on patrol, so I’ll see you later. Don’t wait up for me. I might be back late.”

He leaves, suitless and not out the window this time. He’ll probably go back to changing in back alleys, Tony assumes. But the press has already done its damage. Tony wants to tell Peter that he doesn’t care if the press thinks he’s sleeping with two people at once. It wouldn’t be the worst thing they’d ever said about him. Besides, he’d let the press say whatever they wanted about him to protect Peter’s identity. He’d do anything for Peter, but that’s much too dangerous a confession to make.

-

When Peter comes back, he’s in terrible shape. 

He uses the elevator rather than swinging in. When Tony hears the elevator come up, he assumes it’s just because Peter didn’t want the paparazzi to see him in the Spider suit again. But when Peter limps in with a giant bruise mottling the side of his face, Tony’s heart just about stops. 

Tony bolts out of his desk chair, closes the holo-screens he was looking at, and crossed the room in no time to stand in front of Peter. “Peter, what the hell happened to you?” 

“I’m fine,” says Peter. “Just need a shower.” He tries to sidestep Tony, but Tony blocks him. 

“This,” Tony gestures to his whole body, “is far from _ fine. _Why didn’t Karen send me an alert? FRIDAY, scan for injuries.” 

“Several scrapes and bruises,” FRIDAY reports. “One fractured ankle.” 

“See? I’m fine,” says Peter. “It’s just a broken ankle. It’ll heal in a day. Now can you _ please _let me wash this dirt off my body?” 

“Pete, look at me.” Tony grasps Peter by the shoulders, and holds his gaze steady until Peter meets his eyes. “You’ve been out patrolling for ten hours. I don’t care how much unlimited stamina you have, you need to rest or else you’re putting everyone in that friendly neighbourhood of yours in jeopardy.”

“Don’t give me that,” Peter retorts. There’s suddenly an anger in his eyes that Tony hasn't seen from him in a long time. “You’re always putting yourself in danger to save other people. Why is it so bad when it’s _ me? _ I can’t believe that after all this time, even after you made me an Avenger, even after we got _ married, _you’re still treating me like a kid.”

“I know you’re not a kid,” says Tony. He knows it all too well. Knows that the concern threatening to consume him arises not from mentorly concern, but from feelings he can never admit out loud. Instead, he says, “Watching someone crumble to dust in your arms is a little bit hard to get over.” 

The statement is too raw, too vulnerable for Tony’s liking. But at least it skirts the question of his true feelings for Peter. Regardless, it works. Peter blanches. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I— I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’ll be careful. I promise.” 

“Okay,” says Tony. He takes in a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “FRIDAY, run Peter a hot bath for me, would you?” 

“Will do,” says FRIDAY. The sound of running water starts up faintly in the background.

“Thanks, Tony.” Peter swallows hard. “I just don’t want you thinking that you need to take care of me all the time, you know? I can take care of myself.”

“I know, kid. I know. Just let me do something for you once in a while.”

“You’ve already done so much for me,” says Peter in a small voice. Nonetheless, he obediently hooks an arm over Tony's shoulder so Tony can walk them over to the bathroom. Once they're inside, he lets Tony strip him of his suit and help him into the bathtub. Peter sits between Tony’s legs in the warm water, back pressed to Tony’s chest, as Tony washes the dirt and dried blood off his body as gently as he can. And if Tony's hands trail along that slender body, tracing his taut muscles, memorizing that smooth skin a tad bit longer than a normal person would— if he spends a little too long massaging little circles into Peter’s soapy scalp, trailing his fingers through his hair— that’s a secret for only him to know. 

-

From then on, Peter does keep his promise to be more careful. It’s Tony that doesn’t. 

He’s reaching the end of the four-month suppressant cycle, meaning that he should theoretically ride out his heat. But he can’t make Peter do that with him, so he tells Peter he’ll be out of state on a business trip, and books a hotel, bringing all his heat supplies with him. A few lonely, painful nights are better than making Peter go through this with him again.

He doesn’t expect the kidnapping to happen. In theory, he should probably _ always _expect a kidnapping to happen, given his very public status and high number of enemies waiting to take him down from the shadows, but he’s been too busy worrying about Peter to worry about himself.

The attackers aren’t all that skilled, but Tony’s outnumbered, and the oncoming heat dulls his hand-eye coordination and slows his reaction time. He manages to knock a few of them out before one of them grabs him from behind, binds him in an impossibly strong rope, and releases a gas in the air that manages to get through his mask filtration system.

His last thought before blacking out is that he needs to improve the filtration system on Peter’s suit, because if it can even go through the Iron Man suit, then it could definitely hurt Peter and he couldn’t have that happening, not on his watch. 

And then he blacks out. 

-

When he comes to again, it’s to the sound of a loud crash. 

Tony takes in his surroundings. He’s tied up, in a bare concrete room with one small window, one that apparently had bars before. Not that that matters. Someone had crashed through the glass and bent a human-shaped hole into the bars to let himself through. That someone, dressed head to toe in the Iron Spider suit, is currently engaged in fierce combat, waldoes out and all, with one of Tony’s kidnappers. He looks inexplicably good decked out in the tech Tony designed for him, all shining red and toned muscle and _ damn, _that ass. Tony did not at all design the suit for this, and still it was doing him wonders.

“Pete,” Tony says, slurred. And then Tony feels a wetness in his pants and realizes he’s leaking, and— oh, God. That’s not a good sign. It’s a good thing he still has his suit on. He realizes belatedly that he’s hard, and sweating everywhere. His skin feels raw, and his eyes struggle to remain focused.

“Hang in there, Tony,” Peter calls out to him, knocking one guy unconscious with an extremely sexy roundhouse kick, and then another by flipping him over his shoulder and pinning him to the ground. Why did Tony ever bother getting off on porn, when the option of watching Peter fight was _ right here? _

“God, what the hell is happening to me?” says Tony aloud. 

“You’re in heat,” says Peter. “I think.” He finally subdues the last of their foes and rushes to Tony’s side, and drops to his knees. He’s close, too close. The scent blockers don’t do enough to stop Peter from smelling so incredibly good, warm and safe and enticing all at once. Or maybe that’s just how he always smells. Tony doesn’t have enough energy to make the distinction. Yep, definitely in heat. “Remember that surveillance drone tech you announced the other day? These guys wanted to steal it and sell it on the black market. I guess they figured that if they kept you in here long enough, you'd tell them where it was, but they didn't account for one thing.” He cuts Tony’s restraints free with ease and flashes him a dashing grin. "Me."

_Neither did I, _Tony thinks. “Don’t come any closer,” he says weakly, right as he falls over into Peter’s arms. “Okay, so that didn’t exactly work out. But for the record, I tried.” He buries his face into Peter’s neck. God, was this how Peter felt the first time? How did he resist at all? “Sorry,” he mumbles into the fabric of Peter’s suit. “Sorry, kid, I’m— fuck, I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” says Peter, a little flustered but otherwise calm. He hooks Tony’s arm over his own shoulder. “It’s okay, Tony. I’ve got you. SHIELD’s going to be here in— zero seconds,” he trails off as a hole is blasted through the walls and agents rush in. “I mean, I did their job already, but at least they can catch the bad guys and we can get the hell out of here. Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

“I’ve got stuff set up back home for exactly this kind of situation,” says Tony. “Could you just— bring me back there?” 

“Okay,” says Peter. He hooks Tony’s shoulder over his arm, and they stumble out of the room. Then, he picks Tony up, bridal style, and, carrying him in one arm (God, that super strength sends shivers all throughout Tony's body), swings out the window.

He gets them there in no time at all, objectively. But it feels like an eternity. Every second that ticks by with the painfully unnecessary clothing barrier stopping Tony from being pressed up against Peter’s bare skin feels like torture. That torturous feeling grows only stronger when Peter gets him home, and drops him on the bed, and then promptly steps away from him. 

Tony reaches out and actually groans as he grasps Peter by the wrist. The look in his eye must be as desperate as he feels, because Peter wavers, and then sits down on the bed in front of Tony. 

“How are you feeling?” says Peter hesitantly. “Do you— do you want me to leave?”

It takes everything Tony has in him not to throw himself at Peter’s feet and beg Peter to fuck him. “I, hah. I feel like I’m going to sweat out every drop of water in my body, and—” He deactivates the suit to let his body breathe. Then he presses his feverish face to Peter’s cheek, and nuzzles, every muscle in his body relaxing. “God, that feels like water in a desert. Kid, you have no idea how good you smell right now.”

Peter tenses up, and in any other circumstance Tony would remove himself completely at any hint of hesitation. But he physically can’t. It’s terrible how intensely he needs to fuck Peter immediately. It’s even more terrible that Peter looks him dead in the eye, and says, “Let me help you.”

Every nerve in Tony’s body screams _ yes, yes, yes. _It’s near impossible not to rip Peter’s suit off right there. But he manages it somehow. “Peter, you don’t have to,” says Tony, sounding strained. “I promise— I’ve got, I’ve got things I designed to help me through it, and—”

“I’m sorry that it has to be me,” says Peter, his jaw clenched with a sad determination that breaks Tony’s heart. “I’m sorry that I’m the one you’re stuck with. But I’ll make it good for you. I promise. Just like you took care of me— just like you always do.” 

“Peter,” says Tony while he can still think clearly enough to do so. “You don’t owe me anything. I don’t want you thinking that. Ever.” 

Peter shakes his head. “I want to,” he says. “I really, really want to.” He strips Tony of his clothing, and then trails a reverent hand down Tony’s chest. Tony’s chest stutters with the hope that maybe Peter does _want _him even when he’s not in rut— even as his mind reminds him that this is all just pretend, that Peter’s saying what he needs to to get Tony to relax and feel better. Whatever it is, it’s working. 

“Oh, God,” says Tony, arching up into his touch. “Kid, stop teasing. I need you inside me like, yesterday.”

“Okay, okay,” says Peter hastily. He gets rid of his own suit and underwear, and positions himself awkwardly over Tony's body. His awkwardness is endearing, but Tony’s dick is way too hard and he’s leaking way too much slick to focus on anything else but Peter’s smell as he leans in closer, Peter’s touch as he spreads Tony’s legs apart gently, running his hands through the slick that has dripped down his thighs, and presses a finger into Tony’s wet hole.

It’s different from the first time. Peter is careful and thorough, watching Tony with eyes full of an emotion Tony can’t place. As for Tony? Tony just wants to be fucked, desire swallowing him from the inside out like nothing he's ever felt before. He rocks back on Peter’s fingers, lets out noises he’d probably be ashamed of if he had half a mind to, and Peter bites down on his own lip so hard it goes white. Tony wants him to relax, and he does that the only way that strikes him, which is to catch Peter’s lips in his own, and _ oh, _it occurs to him then that it’s the first time he’s kissed Peter, despite everything. Something hot burns through his skin when Peter whines into the kiss and curls a hand in Tony’s hair, firm yet hesitant.

“Fuck me,” Tony murmurs against Peter’s lips. “I’m ready. C’mon.”

Peter does as told, and Tony feels a strange calm when Peter finally pushes inside him. The pleasure drapes over him like a blanket, muddling his other senses, narrowing down his surroundings to the feeling of Peter inside him. He feels whole, complete. 

“Oh, God, that feels good.” The words fall out of his mouth, unbidden. “Peter. You feel _ so good.” _

It’s too raw and too honest. Still, it works for Peter, somehow. Peter whimpers, hips jerking forward into Tony. He rubs small circles along Tony’s hip with his thumb. “You feel so good, too,” he says quietly, and Tony shudders around him.

The relaxation doesn’t last long. Peter drives into him at a steady pace, letting out soft grunts that rush straight to Tony’s cock, and leaves passionate but gentle kisses along the side of Tony’s neck, mumbling unintelligible and improbably hot things into his skin like _ Tony _ and _ you feel perfect _ and _ oh my God. _Tony can’t say anything back, too lost in the pleasure to think, and focuses on wrapping his legs around Peter's waist and pushing back against Peter’s cock to get a better angle, until he’s nearing the edge.

“Fuck,” says Tony shakily. Thoughts have gone out the window again, replaced by the barest, most primal form of need. He can’t stop himself from talking, from begging. “Fuck, kid, I’m gonna come. Knot me, Peter, please— oh,_ fuck, _ I need it.”

“I can’t,” says Peter, groaning with frustration. “Tony, I can’t. I’m sorry. I— I can’t do this knowing that you don’t— it’s just your heat, I’m just helping you, and I—" He takes a shuddering breath. “I just can’t pretend all of this is real. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” 

At the emotion in Peter’s voice, Tony’s brain kicks back into gear. His heart sinks down to his stomach. He stills. “Kid, if anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

“It's my fault,” Peter insists. “I roped you into this marriage thing. And here I am, trying to help you with your heat and I can’t even fucking—”

“Peter,” says Tony more firmly this time, cutting him off. “_You _ did not rope _ me _into anything. I let you bond with me when you weren’t lucid enough to consent. That’s on me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” says Peter. “I was the one who begged you to let me knot you. How is that your fault?” 

“Okay, let’s save this argument for later,” says Tony. “I’m going to win, by the way. I’ve mastered the art of self-blame. But right now, I _ really _need your knot. I’m not kidding, I might actually pass out if you don’t knot me. That’s how badly I need it.”

“Okay,” says Peter hurriedly. “Okay, let’s try this again.”

He tries. Tony can see that, can feel it in the way Peter’s cock is pounding at his insides. His orgasm comes ever closer, like an incoming wave, but starts to ebb away when Peter sighs and stops moving.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I— I really can’t.” 

Tony looks at him. He’s blinking furiously, and he sounds alarmingly close to tears.

“Peter,” says Tony. He’s not sure whether the pain of being deprived of his orgasm, or the pain in his chest at seeing Peter like this, is worse. No, scratch that. He knows exactly which one is worse. “You really don’t have to do this.” The thought of unattaching himself from Peter’s dick, which is probably the only thing keeping him sane, makes him seize up with dread. Still, he powers through it. “Pete, don’t ever feel like you can’t say no. Even if— especially if it’s me who’s making you feel that way.”

“It’s not that. It’s really not that,” says Peter. He swipes the back of his hand hastily across the back of his eyes. “It’s— I want you, Tony. I want you for real.”

Tony’s breath catches in his throat. Of all the things he was expecting, this wasn’t one of them.

“I know it's stupid, but I— I always wanted to be an omega," Peter admits, with a shaky laugh. "You were everybody's idea of a perfect alpha, and so I thought, I wanted— and then after Germany, that was when I presented. Maybe that’s why I kept waiting for you to bring me on a mission, so I could prove that I could still be a part of your life, even if you’d never look at me that way. And when I found out you were an omega, I thought that maybe you could finally see me in the way that I saw you.” Peter blinks furiously as a droplet of water falls out of his eye and hits the pillow next to Tony. “I’m really sorry. I know I'm being selfish, after everything you’ve done for me. But I’ve been in love with you _ forever, _ and it just— it _ hurts _ having you like this when this is all I can ever have."

The tightness Tony has held close to his chest for years slowly dissipates, like clouds clearing to make way for the sun, at the realization that Peter wanted this, wanted_ him_, all along. And yet, at the same time, it's unbearably painful to know that Peter has been hurting all this time. This time, though? This time, it really _is_ something Tony can fix.

"Hey," he says softly. “Peter, look at me.” He tilts Peter’s head up with a finger as gently as he can. Peter’s eyes are glistening with tears, and Tony wants to kiss them away, so he does. When he pulls back, Peter’s eyes are impossibly wide. “I never said I didn’t want you.”

Peter’s bottom lip trembles. And then his face lights up with raw hope. “Tony, I— _ what?” _

“I want you,” says Tony. “No, scratch that, let me start over. I love you, Peter. I’m desperately, hopelessly in love with you, and this is definitely not a conversation we should be having with your dick up my ass. But I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, that it's the whole truth. You’re brilliant, kid. You’re amazing, and brave, and strong, and— God, you're everything I thought I could never let myself have.” 

Suddenly, he's overwhelmed with an all-consuming desire that he channels into a long, slow kiss. Peter returns it with a soft whimper, lips moving against Tony’s, hurried, desperate, and bursting with adoration. 

“Tony, I—” His hips jolt up inside of Tony again, and Tony groans at the pleasure that spikes through his body. “I— fuck, I love you so much.” He runs his hands up and down Tony’s body over and over, as if he can’t get enough.

“Yeah,” says Tony, strained. “Yeah, kid, me too. Oh— _ oh,” _he gasps, as Peter hits his prostate and his whole body turns to jelly.

“Mine,” says Peter, still trembling with disbelief. It’s the alpha instincts, maybe, that urge Peter to press an open-mouthed kiss to the marked gland on Tony’s neck. But Tony likes to think that this next part is all Peter, the part where he laces their fingers together and says, reverently, “All this— all of you— you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” says Tony, as if it were a revelation, as if Tony’s heart hadn’t belonged to Peter since this all began. “I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

That’s what finally gets Peter to come with a cry, and the sensation of hot liquid filling Tony from the inside, combined with Peter’s knot already swelling inside of him, pushes Tony over the edge, too. He spills all over Peter’s abs and chest. This time, when they lock together, Tony feels like he’s right where he’s supposed to be.

After the initial high fades, after Tony’s mind clears and Peter’s alpha pheromones stop clouding Tony’s senses, Tony speaks up.

“So, your dick is still up my ass,” says Tony, “but thanks to your knot, we’re stuck together for about ten to thirty minutes, maybe more. So let’s have that conversation, shall we?”

“Okay,” says Peter. 

“I’ll start,” says Tony. “I meant what I said, kid. I adore you. When you thought you’d roped me into helping you out with your rut, there I was thinking that you’d rather be stuck with anybody but me. Let it be known that I tried, I really did, to keep our relationship casual after that. I didn’t do a good job, but I tried.”

Peter laughs breathlessly, leaning his head on Tony's shoulder. “You didn’t have to,” he says. “I was head over heels for you already. There wasn’t any reason for us not to be together.”

“There are a lot of reasons,” says Tony, cradling the back of Peter's head gently. “I’m your mentor, you’re my mentee. You died in my arms once, and I’ve proven that I’m extremely terrible at letting people go and moving on. You are one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, and just because I haven’t fucked it up yet doesn’t mean I won’t in the near future.”

“Okay,” says Peter. His tone says, _ if that’s how you want to play it. _“Then I’ve got some reasons, too. I’m not as experienced as you are, and I’ll probably make a lot of dumb mistakes. I’m going to be busy with college things, and Spider-Man things, and we probably can’t spend as much time together as we want to. Oh, and I died in your arms once, and it was pretty traumatizing for me, too.”

Tony takes Peter’s hand into his own and holds his gaze. “Peter, none of that matters to me. You know that.”

“Oh, yeah?” says Peter, lips quirking up into a sly little grin, and that’s when Tony knows he’s played right into Peter’s hand. “Well, none of your reasons matter to me either. What do you say we meet in the middle?”

Tony knows that to argue further would be a lost cause. Still, it feels like he’s won, warmth and joy blooming in his chest. “That sounds good.”

Peter bursts into a smile, eyes twinkling. “So does this mean we’re married for real now?” 

“Moving too fast, don’t you think?” says Tony. “At least take me out to dinner first.”

Peter blanches. “I— oh, sorry. I just thought— I mean, I want to, but I get it if you don’t—”

“I’m kidding, Pete,” says Tony with a chuckle, pressing a playful kiss to his lips. “Of course we’re married. I’d be an idiot to turn down the chance to be married to someone like you. You should really take me out to dinner first, though. We'll call it a honeymoon date.”

“You _ are _ an idiot,” says Peter with an exasperated laugh. “But you’re _ my _idiot. So, yeah. It’s a date. A honeymoon date.”

As Peter takes his hand and beams at him, brighter than sunshine, Tony thinks, _ I have the rest of my life to wake up to this smile. _And that? That’s enough for him. Whatever else is going to happen down the road, they can figure it out together.


End file.
